


Five Second Rule

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dismemberment, Genesis - Freeform, Implied Bloodplay, In which Jesse has a hangover that's not a real hangover, M/M, and goes the usual morning after greasy diner route, except none of this is 'usual', obviously, vampire reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-11 21:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10475067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: Written for an anonymous prompt: "What if Jesse woke up during Cassidy's fight with Fiore and Deblanc and watched most of it happen unnoticed by any of them - bonus points if he watched Cass lick the blood off the floor *wink* - and then confronts Cassidy the next day about it."





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I know I always say that idk what these fics are that I'm writing... but I honestly don't know wtf this one is. There's Genesis hangovers and disgusting fetishes and slight obsessions with blood/pasta sauce. Is that normal for this fandom now? Perhaps. Regardless, if that's your thing feel free to keep reading and I hope you somehow manage to enjoy it :D

 

“You’ll experience shit in your life, son,” Jesse’s daddy had said, stirring a pot of cheap pasta and letting the words hang. “Real god-awful, gut-wrenching, soul-searching, testicles-drawn-up-between-your-ass shit. But nothing, _nothing_ is gonna compare to a Grade A hangover.” He’d looked down for the first time, marinara staining his clerical collar and a bright sheen to his eyes. The Reverend took a swing from his bottle. “Us Custers can deal with anything, Jesse, except the shit we bring on ourselves,” and he took another massive, endless drink.

 

Jesse had believed him. Through all the fights and bad runs, missteps and bouts of stupidity, he’d always come back to the bottle. Not just for some kind of solace, but for comparison as well. Broken bones would never be as bad as the pounding that came after a night of drinking. Broken promises couldn’t compare to drinking alone.

 

Nothing was worse than what they did to themselves. He’d somehow taken comfort in that.

 

Now though? Now Jesse knew his daddy to be a goddamn liar. Because nothing compared to this.

 

His head didn’t just ring or pound, it was _splitting_ , and oh, he’d used that expression before sure, sure, but never to describe the literal, impossible cracking open as his forehead got the messiest divorce in recorded history. It was a life changing kind of pain. The sort of pain that either drove you mad or threw you to new heights, and Jesse hadn’t been experiencing it long enough to figure out which was which. Hell, who could think in all this? Not him. He was nothing but pain, pain of the head, pain of the mind, the soul, and Jesus Mary Joseph that must reside in the intellect because his heart was thrumming just fine.

 

About a thousand miles a minute, but otherwise fine.

 

He wanted to groan about it, maybe scream if that would drown out some of the pain, but all Jesse could manage was the tinniest, most pathetic whimper, something he wasn’t even sure made it past the back of his throat. It gave him something else to focus on though— small as it was—and slowly, so goddamn slowly, he started taking stock of the rest of his body. Because he _did_ have a body. He existed somewhere outside of this pain.

 

His legs, for example, had gone tingling cold after...however long he’d been out. His feet felt like concrete blocks nailed down to the floor. His arms were similarly heavy; his head might as well have been the weight of the world. Cracking his eyes open was a Herculean task that nearly sent Jesse back down into the darkness.

 

What the hell had happened to him?

 

Something big. Something awful and changing. Lost amongst his own attempts at thoughts, it took Jesse an indeterminate amount of time to realize that the sounds of pain he was hearing weren’t just byproducts of his own mind. Someone was suffering nearby.

 

_Someone other than me_ , he thought, inner voice dark with the humor. It was enough though, and with that final push Jesse was able to open his eyes, taking in the sight of his church around him.

 

A church covered in blood.

 

The word ‘contradiction’ came to mind. As well as ‘fitting.’ Somehow they both seemed right and were able to exist cohesively, side-by-side. Bleary-eyed and cotton-headed, Jesse catalogued the smears of blood along his pews, tiny splatters on the far wall, the growing pool that was quickly spreading towards him. It seemed to be coming from something over there and—oh.

 

Oh. That was a leg. Not... attached to a body.

 

Well fuck.

 

That more than anything told Jesse to get the hell off his ass and move. Fight. Run. Whatever needed doing. That seemed an impossibility though given the weight of his limbs and how exhausting it was just keeping his eyes open. Jesse was used to painful exhaustion, but he’d never experienced anything quite like this. He had a vague, fuzzy memory of someone opening the doors and plowing into him...then darkness. Was that who he was hearing now? Had he been attacked?

 

“You filthy fuckin’ gobshite,” a voice said. It was gravel, a mouth full of sand.

 

And Jesse _knew_ that voice.

 

“That’ll teach you to play with gardenin’ tools, stupid little asshole.”

 

Oh my god.

 

It was like some bad special effects. One moment Jesse just had a gory display of blood and leg to stare at, the next Cass flew into view, bearing down on a tall and gangly man who—huh—also seemed to be covered in blood. There was a chainsaw involved (so _that_ was that sound) and by the time Jesse realized Cass was freaking dismembering the guy it was already over. There was a torso and limbs and half a head decorating his floor, and Cass stood amongst it all with the cheekiest grin on his face.

 

A dim part of Jesse, roughly labeled ‘common sense,’ told him that this was a Not Good thing he was witnessing. The larger part, accurately labeled just ‘Jesse’ thought,

_Holy fuck that’s hot_.

Jesse knew he’d always been attracted to power. It was Lisa Delver back-talking their eighth grade teacher, then pulling up her skirt and flashing them all in a manner that was more ‘don’t fuck with me’ than ‘fuck me.’ It was the nameless man from out of town, taking him out behind the bar like a goddamn cliché, but making Jesse give instead of take for once in his life. Most recently it was Tulip; Tulip with her hard fists and sharp words, with a thrill for danger and addiction to power that ran even deeper than Jesse’s. They fed off of one another like two mirrors facing each other: a reflection of a reflection of a reflection.

Now though... now there was Cassidy.

Cassidy, with a chainsaw in his hands. Cassidy, drenched head to toe in gore. Cassidy, looking like a goddamn kid in a candy shop as he surveyed the damage he’d laid out on person and property. The irony (unbeknownst to Jesse) was that he’d just been granted the greatest power ever known and he still looked upon Cass with dilated eyes, something obscenely untouchable about him in that moment.

Which of course made Jesse want to touch all the more.

His body was having none of it though. He still couldn’t move his legs or his arms, let alone get something going that was worth offering. Even his eyes were growing heavy again. Cass was a red slit that kept disappearing momentarily and Jesse realized with a pang that he was slipping back under. He hauled himself to the surface with a massive breath that went entirely unnoticed.

“What a waste this is,” Cass was saying. Jesse caught him shaking his head. “Bloody fuckin’ waste. Hmm... that kinda fight takes a lot outta a guy. You don’t mind if I forget my manners for just a moment, do you, padre?”

What Jesse would given to be able to answer, because at that moment Cass made words so fucking obsolete by slipping to his knees and scooping up a handful of the still fresh blood. It was deep enough for that, a steady stream, and Cass titled his head back, pouring it down his throat like a mortal finding ambrosia. It coated his teeth and slipped down his chin. His shirt was a ruined mess and Jesse watched, hypnotized, as that Adam’s Apple worked overtime. Cass was a dying man drinking by the handful until suddenly even that wasn’t enough. Jesse lost all breath as Cass dipped his head directly to the floor and licked a long strip parallel to the man’s broken wrist. Cass hummed in the back of his throat then, pleased, and Jesse felt an answering ache thrumming within him.

 

_I have to remember this_ , he thought, as Cass kitten-licked blood from the crevices of the wood. _I’m passing out, but... gotta remember this_.

 

Jesse’s eyes slid shut. He could still see Cass behind them though: a bright red outline in the darkness.

 

He had just enough time—and this was an afterthought, now—but just enough time to think,

_Oh. So the bastard really is a vampire._

 

It didn’t put Jesse off at all and he finally, finally slept.

 

***

 

Jesse woke up seven hours later in a slightly better state than he’d fallen asleep. That is, his limbs were no longer bent at unnatural angles, his head wasn’t beating on a collection of drums, and the church was _miraculously_ clean. Jesse stood staring out over his domain for a long minute, wondering if everything he recalled from last night was just one messed up, fever dream.

 

Then Jesse shrugged. “Don’t think I care if it was.”

 

Nope. He was making this a reality. Whether it would be for the first time or a repeat didn’t rightly matter.

 

“No, sir. Doesn’t matter one bit…”

 

Decision made, Jesse made a beeline out of the church, his pace more akin to a bloodhound than a man suffering from the hangover of the century. And heh, bloodhound, wasn’t that just hilarious? Jesse let out a dry laugh as he passed the ‘Open Your Holes to Jesus!’ sign and wondered if he hadn’t suffered some sort of stoke the night before. His eyes were crusty from sleep and his shirt was already sticky with sweat—and Jesse felt his physicality more than he ever had before. He raised his arms above his head as he walked, stretching, rolling his head like a boxer preparing for a fight. His pace was light and quick and he made it to Joe’s in record time.

 

Joe’s was a run-down, dingy sort of place. The kind of establishment that didn’t deserve the name “restaurant.” Just call it a “dive” or a “hole” and give a warning to all your pals that they were likely to shit out whatever it was they chose to put in—quickly too. Still, it was a part of Annville history, for better or for worse. Little Joe had inherited it from Joe Jr., who inherited it from the first Joe way back in the 60’s. The family would serve you greasy burgers and fries for a better price than the chains and all the soda you could want to wash it down. You didn’t insult the food and didn’t comment on the hygiene, and they’d feed you at any hour of the day, no shirt, shoes, or manners required. It was a system that benefited pretty much everyone.

 

Jesse had no reason to believe that Cass was there, except for the fact that he wasn’t at the church, the bar wasn’t open, and he quite literally had nowhere else to go. Sure enough the hunch paid off because Cass was lounging in the furthest booth, munching on a meatball sub.

 

He had tomato sauce all over his chin and Jesse’s stomach tightened; stained white skin like a clerical collar.

 

Walking forward was something straight out of a dream. He was well aware that it was a decent crowd for a Thursday afternoon, with more than half the spots filled with familiar faces, all of them hailing him with some sort of greeting. It meant that part of Jesse was on autopilot, raising his hand and shooting smiles at random. It also meant that Cass was given plenty of warning.

 

When he looked up he didn’t seem particularly phased, like he hadn’t dismembered two men last night and presumably hid the evidence while Jesse slept. Cass just gave him a sunny smile and a sweeping gesture to sit.

 

“Padre,” he said, all syrupy sweetness.

 

“Cassidy.”

 

“You’re lookin’ well rested.”

 

“Mmm, not so much.”

 

It was a game they were playing, though Jesse was the only one in on the rules. Cass knew damn well he’d been splayed out on filthy wood all night, but he wasn’t _meant_ to know that... and he didn’t know that Jesse already knew. It was one of those stupid, convoluted moments that him splitting a grin ear to ear. Jesse made himself comfortable in the booth across from Cass, sneaking a hand over the table to drum his fingers near Cass’ wrist. He pictured the severed hand from last night and breathed deep.

 

“You’d never believe the dream I had,” Jesse said, keeping his voice just this side of innocent. “Remember drinks the other night? You telling me you were a—ha!—vampire, of all things?”

 

Cass had slowed in his eating. He paused entirely now, mouth pursed, before resuming and stuffing a couple chips into his gob. “I remember,” he said. “Finally gonna believe me then?”

 

“Oh well,” Jesse dodged that with a wave of his hand. “It’s just, it kinda got to me, you know? I ended up with this crazy-ass dream of you tearing these two shucks limb from limb, bleeding them dry, and then, would you believe it? You were _licking the blood straight off the floor_ , like some sort of animal.”

 

Cassidy froze. Jesse went for the kill.

 

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you good manners?”

 

And there it was, that wonderful point of confusion, where Cass wasn’t _sure_ if Jesse knew or really thought it had all been a dream. That right there was power and Jesse reveled in the brief expression of panic, Cass’ tongue poking out to nervously trace his lips.

 

“Sounds like quite a nightmare,” he settled on, finally meeting Jesse’s eye.

 

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it that,” and Jesse scooped up some of the sub’s sauce, rubbing it between his fingers.

 

Cass’ eyes blew wide.

 

“That so?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Jesse loved all of it: the realization spreading across Cass’ face, the sticky liquid between his fingers, the hustle and bustle of so many others around them, acting as a constant reminder that this wasn’t a private space. Nonetheless, Jesse sucked the sauce off his fingers, slow and steady, then reached for a spoon without pausing to wipe them down. Cass followed every movement as Jesse scraped down the bun and brought the spoonful over his lap.

 

“Don’t the kids call it something? The five second rule?” Jesse kept his movements slow, giving Cass plenty of time to see what he was doing. “Tut, tut. You waited far longer than that.”

 

The sauce was thick and came off the spoon in one glob, falling between Jesse’s spread legs and hitting the floor under the table. All he had to do was tilt his head—a single look—and Cass caved, shucking his skinny frame off the seat and sliding to the floor. He was gone in a flash. Nearly fast enough that someone might think he wasn’t human.

 

“Good boy,” Jesse said.

 

He couldn’t know if vampires had enhanced hearing as well. A squeeze of hands on his calves said they did.

 

Jesse was careful though, hesitant even, scanning the restaurant for signs that they’d been noticed. It looked as if everyone was just going about their business—Davey working through a mound of cheese fries, Alice and William Becker arguing about that goddamn mortgage again, a gaggle of kids running screaming between the counter and the door—and Jesse took a chance, spreading his legs to take a peek at the sight he’d created.

 

Cass was on all fours in front of him, ass high enough in the air that it brushed the underside of the table. If Jesse had been the bloodhound earlier than Cass was the starved, mangy mutt, licking the sauce straight off of Joe’s filthy floor with neither disgust nor pause. Jesse was equally revolted and enthused with the image.

 

When he was finished—when the spot was cleaner than it had probably been in years—Cass’ mouth latched onto Jesse’s leg instead, sucking a strip there that was somehow burning straight through his jeans. Jess tensed, shifted just slightly, opening his legs all the wider. He didn’t know if he’d actually spilled any sauce on his pants or if Cass was just coming up with excuses now, but once again, he didn’t really give a damn.

 

So Jesse snuck a hand down too, fitting it into Cass’ hair and tugging hard. They couldn’t go too far here, not even oblivious Jenny at the side table would fail to miss her Preacher’s face if it started twisting in rapture, but he needed a _little_ something more. Hand trembling, Jesse scooped up some of the excess sauce and brought it down with his left, uncaring as he hit more strands of hair and what felt like Cass’ nose. Jesse just needed Cass’ mouth on some appendage of his body before they moved on to...whatever the hell this was becoming.

 

“Not blood,” he whispered. “Sorry about that, but—”

 

Cass sucked Jesse’s finger into his mouth with reckless abandon, giving just as much, _more_ , than what he’d offered in the church. Jesse got to see before and now he felt, resulting in him letting out a noise so strangled and helpless that it brought a mortified blush up to his cheeks.

 

“Preacher?”

 

Aw, hell.

 

Young Sasha trotted over, pink-cheeked in her first week on the job. She gave Jesse a sunny smile that only faded as she caught sight of the other empty booth. “Oh, where did Mr. Cassidy go?”

 

A sharp pain shot through his knuckle at ‘Mr.’ Jesse kept his own smile fixed in place.

 

“Don’t worry about him. He’s...taking care of some business.”

 

A swirl of tongue in appreciation; a gentle scrape of teeth.

 

“...okay. Were you, um, gonna take care of his check?”

 

“Mmm hmm. I’m used to looking after him,”—the reverberation of a growl.

 

“Great! Did you want anything else first?”

 

“No, no. I’ve got everything I want right here.”

 

Sasha left again, Cass dug unforgiving nails into Jesse’s legs, and he whispered directions to a nearby alley that had catered to him more than once. Jesse pocketed one of Joe’s knives as well. Dull, but serviceable for their needs.

 

“Here’s your check, preacher.” Jesse felt Cass’ bite in time with Sasha’s smile.

 

Oh yes, life was gonna give you shit sometimes, none more so than what you made for yourself. His daddy had taught him that. But this?

 

This right here was not a part of that heaping pile.

 

 


End file.
